


Sweethearts

by Ursula



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Romance, X-file
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-08
Updated: 2008-11-08
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: Mulder and Krycek's idea of honeymoon is to investigate Bugg Island's ghosts.





	Sweethearts

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Sweethearts

## Sweethearts

### by Ursula

##### [Story Headers]

  


Title: Father's Day 4: Sweethearts 

Author/Pseudonym: Ursula 

Fandom: X-Files 

Pairing: Mulder/Krycek 

Rating: Adult Slash 

Status: WIP for now 

Date Posted: 11-6-08 

Archive: FHSA 

E-mail address for feedback: or 

Classification: Post Series 

Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: Stand Alone 

Disclaimers: No profit, fan fiction for fun 

Notes: Follows Vows Thanks to Jennie for a wonderful beta. I borrowed several of her suggestions to enhance the story. 

And dedicated to Courtney. This series is inspired by her praise and requests. 

Warnings: Slash 

Time Frame: Post Series 

I swore I wouldn't do it, but it was Mulder. I give in to Mulder all too often. Besides, I decided, we were too weird to do normal. 

Leaving Jacob behind was the difficult part; Mulder told me not to worry, then I told him not to worry. No luck. We were both going to worry, but Scully and Walter would be watching over our son. I trusted them, which was a revelation to me. I'd thought that particular ability had been betrayed and beaten out of me long ago. 

As for the farm house... 

Mulder swore that the renovations were in progress. I hoped. It's not that I haven't been in worse accommodations; it's that I have been in them too often. I could use a shit load of comfort for the rest of my life and I would still hope for more. Gimme silk sheets in summer and flannel sheets in winter, a red hot Mulder next to me on a pillow top mattress, though, and I'm a happy camper. 

Part of me was excited. Well, my dick was pretty much up for Mulder all of the time. Unless Jacob had kept me awake with an ear infection all night. No, the idea of investigating anything with Mulder was great. 

Sometimes when I had just finished some horrible job for Spender, I would dream about those few months with Mulder, his partner, running after him, always running after him, eager to solve a case, get him a coffee, fetch. I would have done anything to have really been that Alex Krycek. 

I won't beat myself up every day. I had done wrong, but I had played my role in dealing with the aliens and the conspirators. Still this was a bit of a fantasy come true. 

OooOooO 

If I weren't a tough assassin, I'd have had snot running down my nose when I handed Jacob over to Walter. My son had fallen for the big, burly guy lately. He'll grab Walter's glasses, ride on those massive shoulders, and drop cookie crumbs on that shiny, bald pate. Walter loves it. He's crazy over my son. Kim is great with Jacob, too. In all honesty, the only reason Scully's part of the care taking team is to make sure William and Jacob grow up together as much as possible. Mulder and I want his sons to be real brothers, even if they didn't live together. 

OooOooO 

We got in our rental car, Mulder driving. He still wouldn't let me have the keys; at least my hands weren't in cuffs. My leg was still a little sore, but I was a good healer...lucky for me, as otherwise I never have survived all the crap I'd been through. 

As we idled at the light, I felt Mulder's hand on my leg, rubbing softly. I could have purred. He loves my body. He loves me. 

I thought of them often, Jacob, the slave with my son's name. I wondered who had taught him to write his name. It had been illegal, you know, to teach slaves to read and write. For Jacob to carve his name in his cell was one last defiance. I think I'd have liked him. I felt strongly that the woman who had helped me when Spender caught me taking my son back had been Jacob's wife. 

You would think I had an imagination. 

"Alex, thank you," Mulder said. 

Bemused, I looked at him. 

"For agreeing to investigate the house, to go back there," Mulder said. "Scully said I was cruel to make you return to the place of your trauma." 

I snorted. I couldn't help it. Tiny nose and all, I snorted, and said, "If we start avoiding traumatic places, we'll have to move and then we'll end up in Toronto." 

Mulder laughed. "Wait, something traumatic happened to me there too." 

"Havre, Montana?" 

"Had some really bad Chinese food there," Mulder said solemnly. 

"Yeah, bad Chinese is almost as bad as Black Oil." 

"Hoboken?" Mulder suggested. 

"Chiggers...nearly ate me alive," I claimed. "How about Borovsk?" 

"Too much art work," Mulder said. "Reminds me of fairy tales and you know how those scare me." 

Mulder grinned. I smiled back. I used to like being alone. Not any more. I could spend every moment of my remaining time with Mulder and still hunger for more. 

OooOooO 

"It used to be a river," Alex said. 

Lost in my own thoughts, happy ones for once, I had assumed Alex was sleeping. When I'd glanced over at him, his head was tilted back, his thick lashes charmingly spread nearly to his cheekbones, his head lolling to reveal his long beautiful neck, which I loved to kiss. It was almost enough to make me stop the car and ravish him. 

"What?" I asked. 

"Buggs Island used to be a river. The farm was really set on a bend of the river. The lake came later." 

"Research?" 

"Yeah," Alex replied, opening his eyes. He pulled out a travel brochure and perused it. "Let's try Aunt Ida's Bakery and Tea House." 

"Why that one?" 

"Well, I am not eating at some place called 'the Silo'." 

"You have to be kidding!" I said, swerving a bit as I glanced at the brochure. He wasn't joking. There really was a place called the Silo. I wanted to laugh, but I didn't want to hurt Alex's feelings. "Life is strange." 

"No shit, Sherlock," Alex said. "It's the next exit." 

The exterior was painted like a red barn. I tried not to hold it against the place. The place made me hark back to those miserable months of domestic terrorism duty. I spend so much time wading through shit that the very sight of a farm-like setting makes me want to gag. 

When we walked in, the place smelled like heaven. I swear Alex was making the same face he makes when I go down on him, like he was going to overload from pleasure. The predominant odor was the bakery, but there was a hint of barbeque beneath. 

"Seat yourself," the plump old man at the counter invited. 

There was a corner seat, a wood booth full of gingerbread carvings. We scooted in and Alex grabbed for the menu. "I want a steak," he said. 

"Me too," I said. "Have to keep our strength up. Honeymoons are hard work." 

Alex smirked. "Very hard, I hope." 

Damn, the way he was batting his eyelashes, you would think he was trying to flirt with me. I could go for some of that for dessert. 

We ordered our steaks with the works. First came a round loaf of some sort of sweet, but not overly sweet bread. It was fresh and so warm that the butter melted as we spread it. 

I would have warned Alex not to ruin his meal on the bread, but my beloved could eat. I had never seen him turn down a good meal. 

The waiter was a tall, thin guy with pierced ears who could have been a twenty-something from anywhere in the United States. He grinned at us as he brought over another loaf of bread. "You could live on this stuff. It's great." 

Alex's eyes warily checked out the waiter. When he decided the heartiness was genuine and innocent of intent, Alex smiled. Wow, the sun rose in that smile. 

The waiter smiled back and I think he would have lingered, but the counterman bellowed, "Andy!" 

With a hasty, "later", Andy dashed off to wait on a pair of elderly ladies. 

The steaks were great, too good to leave a scrap. We decided to walk the meal off. Besides, there was a small historical society in town. It should still be open, so we could do some research. 

Alex shivered in the damp cold. He said, "I wonder if Jacob and his wife ever walked these streets?" 

My lover was convinced that he'd seen ghosts when he had been imprisoned at Spender's estate. I had seen the crudely written name on the wall: Jacob, our son's name. Alex was sure it was the name of a strongly built, male ghost he had seen. 

To be honest, I tend to be somewhat skeptical about ghosts, which may surprise people. It's not that I don't accept the possibility. It's that most sightings are pure imagination or worse. Like my hero, Houdini, I look at each sighting factually. 

Do I think Alex lied? 

Of course not, I think he was injured, stressed, and that confinement in the closed, dark had awoken his deepest fears. 

We would go back. Alex to face his fears or pay a debt if he was right about the ghosts. 

My curiosity was aroused. If the facts bore out Alex's beliefs, I would get a glimpse of a world beyond. I couldn't help being excited, though. I hate secrets, even those of nature and the supernatural. 

Besides, I wanted to believe. 

Alex and I gripped each other's hands for a moment. We were partners and were about to work as such for the first time in reality. 

OooOooO 

Funny. Sometimes I felt like another person now. An Alex Krycek who was not on the run, who had a lover, who lived in one place, was not the me who had endured years of rage and terror. Add a kid to the equation and I knew people would not believe the old me and the new me had anything in common. 

Still as Mulder and I arrived at the farm house, I found myself pulling on my skin of indifference like a comfortable old coat. 

In the light of day, without being a captive, the house looked more picturesque than macabre. This entire area was riddled with contrast. There were tracts of those urban bastions of ticky-tack that carved up the remaining countryside. Clusters of old World War Two housing contrasted with the uniformity of those developments. Here and there, houses like the Giles farmhouse contrasted with the luxury vacation homes that established the lines between suburban Buggs Lake and the more affluent areas. 

Although the house looked less frightening, and although I knew Spender was dead and cremated, I could feel my heart beating faster and I felt cold. The weight of the world settled on me as the enjoyable time I had just spent with my lover faded into the background. 

Glancing at Mulder, I could tell he was excited. Although Mulder was skeptical of ghostly paranormal events, something about the slave spirits I had seen persuaded him. Mulder believed in my visions more than I did. I had been injured, starved, and scared to death for my son. I could accept that these conditions made me imagine the helpful Jacob and his wife, but Mulder felt that the historical facts supported what I had seen. It did seem odd that I'd have imagined ghosts that fit the unique history of the farm house so well. 

The three remaining members of the team who had been working on the excavation and historical research greeted us. 

Moses Link did not look like someone who had double doctorates in anthropology and medicine. He was strongly built, over six feet tall, with shoulders like a bull. His hands showed calluses due to his habit of joining his field workers in excavation. He was black in nearly the literal sense with broad features showing little Caucasian ancestry. His medium length hair was grizzled with gray, and his dark eyes glittered from beneath furrowed brows. 

Dr. Link had worked his way out of poverty. He was the American dream personified, born of a father who had worked on a Detroit factory until the day he dropped over dead and a mother that struggled to support seven children with a meager pension and a few dollars from house cleaning. Dr. Link had not only pulled himself through college, but paid for his younger siblings educations as well. 

How did I know all of this? I'm Alex Krycek. I live and breathe information. I had stayed alive because I never took anyone at face value and seldom miscalculated the person with whom I was dealing 

Dr. Link's associate was a thin, hyperactive woman. She was also an anthropologist and an expert on the culture of slavery. Jan Wicks knew more about slave society than almost anyone in the United States. She had written both popular fiction and textbooks on the subject. She was nearly as tall as Dr. Link, red-haired, blue-eyed and looked like a Scully stretched to great height. Her face was tanned but freckles still stood out. She was sharp featured with a nose as long and crooked as Mulder's. 

We had asked for the rest of the team to take a break. Mulder wanted our stay to be as solitary as possible, both because it was our honeymoon and because he wanted few outside influences while we investigated. 

OooOooO 

I could see Alex was watching the scientist and the cultural anthropologist heading our project. I was watching him closely as he eyed our new associates. The closer we came to the farm house, the more a ghost rode in the car with me. My lover vanished beneath a wary, emotionless facade. 

It was difficult to control my reaction. Alex and I shared chemistry of a peculiar nature. I think I had always known I wanted him, but I'd also loathed him, feared him, and resented his knowledge of things hidden from me. Lately, we had become friends, lovers, spouses. That Alex didn't set me off but this one pulled my strings. 

As paranoid as I can be, I'm also capable of insight. I had an old friend who practiced in the field for which I was trained. She was someone I trusted nearly as much as I trusted Frohike or Scully. I could tell her the truth about my lover and our painful past. Because I needed Alex and needed our marriage to work, I talked to her when I found myself reacting to Alex's shutdowns with distrust. I knew that he had lived through experiences as horrific as Scully and I had. I knew his history now that he was honest with me. This feral Alex was a reversion to survival mode. I had to remember it was not about me. 

I realized that Alex's attention was on me and gave him a wry smile. 

We had moved to Wicks' and Link's war room, which was set up in what had been the parlor of the home. 

Alex and I settled next to each other on the couch to catch up on what we'd paid to have done. 

Dr. Wicks took the lead which I think was characteristic of the two. Dr. Link was economical with his words. 

"As you can see, we have excavated forty graves in the small slave cemetery near the bluff. There was also a private family cemetery with additional graves, but the graves were moved to the town cemetery around the turn of the century. The slave's graves were overlooked." 

"Or no one gave a crap," Alex snarled. 

I could see traces of the Alex-that-might-have-been in reactions like that. If his father hadn't been such an asshole, Alex might have grown up to be a reformer; someone who would have fought for the oppressed. I had heard that voice when Alex was playing my partner and hearing about the experiments on Vietnam-era soldiers. 

"Yes," Dr. Wicks agreed. "The soil was unusually high in silica. Despite its location near water, this peculiar area is dry. We've found a large number of intact bones, and even some artifacts. It's clear that all of the remains were those of either African Americans or biracial individuals. There is also strong evidence of violent injury to the bones which appear to have happened prior to death." 

I listened, but I was riveted by two of the bodies. Reconstructed, it was evident that the bones from the male had belonged to a massive man. One of the female sets of remains had also belonged to a woman as gigantic as the male had been. Jacob and his wife. I was certain. 

"The female skeleton included a few fragments of bones which belonged to a near term fetus or a newborn infant." 

"She was pregnant when I saw her," Alex murmured. He looked ashen. 

When we'd had a chance to speak after Alex and Jacob were rescued, Alex had been sure of what he had seen. Doubt had set in later. He had vividly described the spirits he'd seen as well as the strong feeling that they wanted to help him and wanted help from him in return. A week later, as I grew more enthused about going back to investigate the farm house, Alex had drawn back from his beliefs. He wanted to fund the project to document the history of the house, but kept saying he wanted to do it because of intellectual interest, not because he really thought ghosts had helped him. 

I had automatically taken a seat on his right side. When Alex and I first shared a residence, he always moved when I approached him on his right. His arm was restored, but he had trouble with it, losing control from time to time. The specialist said there was nothing wrong with it. He suggested a therapist after we'd told him of a "traumatic accident" that had kept Alex from using the arm for years. Alex would have nothing to do with the idea. He lives with the pain and with the periods of disuse, always wanting his right arm free for easier defense. I hadn't noticed at first when that changed, but when it finally clicked I was thrilled. I'd gained his trust to the point where he saw me as someone who would help him, not hurt him. I never said anything, but I often took the opportunity to sit on his right and, on occasion, to take his hand in mine like the sweethearts we were. 

We held hands as Alex faced his fears. 

I saw the courage my lover had. He was terrified, but he accepted. He said, "I want to know about Jacob and his wife, all about them. How they died, how they lived, what they need from me." 

I nodded. I could see that Alex had come to believe. 

OooOooO 

The latest job at the farmhouse was to excavate a series of sheds that had housed those slaves not locked in the cells beneath the house. 

Jan Wicks showed us the grids marked on the ground. Half the area was completely cataloged. A long temporary shed housed everything that had been found so far. There were few artifacts; a few iron pots, scraps of crockery, a handful of beads and hair trinkets. Alex reached for a small reddish bead in a labeled bag. "African carnelian," he said. 

"Right, Mr. Krycek," Ms. Wicks said. 

"It must have taken a lot of effort for a slave to hold on to that." 

"Such a deeply human thing," Ms. Wicks said, "to cherish a trinket that ties one to the past." 

Alex's eyes were sad and far away. He knew what it was like to lose everything you knew and loved, to be dragged from your home, and to experience pain and trauma. 

"I want to see the bones," Alex said. "Are they still here?" 

Wicks nodded and we walked to the back room. It was crowded with equipment. The largest set of bones lay on the table. Alex walked over to them. "Jacob," he said. "I know this was him." 

"You can see the wear on his joints. He lived a brutally hard life. There are healed fractures, too, from beatings so severe as to cause broken bones." 

"He was a fighter," Alex said. "The slaves who were sent here were not docile people. They fought for their freedom to the end." 

Alex had, too. He had fought for his freedom and paid the price for his resistance. I cherished him all the more for knowing that about him. 

OooOooO 

"Let's go for a walk," Alex said after Ms. Wicks dismissed us. 

Fine with me. I wanted to stretch my legs after that long car trip. As we walked along the cliff I remembered Spender's death here. 

It was a bad memory. Not that I mourned his loss, but I could once again feel the panic I'd felt when I thought I might have to choose between Alex and our son. 

I reached out to put my arm briefly around my lover. I felt protective. It was pure instinct, even though Alex didn't need a lot of protection. Funny, I used to cite my lover's instincts as proof that he was less than human. Now I admired them. 

Alex glanced at me, twitched his lips in a half smile and said, "Mulder, I'm fine." 

I almost laughed. Scully's words. The difference was that Alex meant them. When Scully said them, I always felt that she was saying that I wasn't strong enough to protect her. I had no doubt that Alex could save himself and me if he had to do it. Yeah, Alex's captivity had changed him, but he remained a dangerous man. My dangerous lover. 

"You worry too much, Mulder," Alex said. "I'm not going to curl up in a ball and have hysterics." 

"I know," I said. "Was Spender always nuts?" 

"Pretty much," Alex replied. "Sociopathic. He was what you used to think I was. Even the people he had feelings for were nothing but a means to the end." 

"Like my mother." 

"She was an unhappy woman, trapped in miserable marriage," Alex replied. "Spender could be charming when he wanted to be." 

"Hard to believe," I said. 

Alex glanced at me and lowered his eyes. "There was a time when I wanted to be him." 

There was nothing I could say except. "You were never like him." 

Alex shrugged. He told me once that he could live with everything he'd done. He had to. To forget would have been a final crime against the innocents he harmed. 

"Tell me more about the farm," I said, pulling Alex from his thoughts. 

"It wasn't just a breaking station for unruly slaves. There was a genuine farm, raising vegetables and livestock to support the family that lived here. They had a factory that made wagon wheels, too. The slaves worked in it. From what I read, teaching skills to slaves was always a danger. Some gave the skilled slaves privileges, better food and housing." 

Alex looked in my eyes. "It was a mistake. They started to feel human and humans want freedom." 

Alex had told me that he felt free in college. It made him resolve to one day make his own decisions. To get away from Spender. 

I understood. 

OooOooO 

After we returned to the house, I called Kim again. She said, "He's fine, Alex. We're at the park." 

"You made sure that there's no one odd there? No one paying too much attention to Jacob?" 

"No more than his royal cuteness usually engenders," Kim said. She sounded a little irritated. Not with my son. With me. It was my second call of the day. 

"Kim, I'm not being paranoid." 

"I know. Walter is here. I don't go out with Jacob unless someone else is with me. We do understand, Alex." 

There had been no interest in Jacob since Spender's death. It didn't calm me down. Spender's interest had been personal, warped but rooted in his desire for an heir. That didn't mean that others would not find Jacob interesting. 

We'd covered his birth records well, creating a false mother for him, my first cousin, Lena. We listed Mulder as the father. She had died a month after Jacob's birth and had moved around a lot because she was a musician. She had even been pregnant during the year Jacob was born. She hadn't carried to term, but it gave some credence to the idea that Jacob was related to both Mulder and me, not a clone that combined our genes. Lena was an earth mother type who had planned to give birth at home so no one would have been surprised at the lack of prenatal care or hospital birth. 

It was my mother's idea. I didn't really know Lena. My childhood had been isolated even before dear old dad handed me over to the project. Mom said Lena would have been happy to help me. The auto accident which took her life had destroyed a loving human being with a great future, according to my Mom. 

The project had trained every one of its agents to suspect everything. If anyone found about Jacob, they would investigate. 

One thing I knew. I would never give Jacob up, even to protect him as Scully had done with William. I trusted myself more than I trusted any institution. 

And I wasn't my father. I loved my son. I would protect him. God help me, at the cost of my life or even of Mulder's life, I would protect my son. 

OooOooO 

I took the phone from Alex when he went silent, his eyes narrowed, his mouth that could be so child like and sweet, pulled back from his teeth. Wild, fierce. 

"Hi, Kim, is everything all right?" I asked. 

"Agent...Mulder, everything is okay. Jacob is having a great time and practicing his walking skills. It's a warm day for this time of the year and he's loving his new boots." 

I chatted with Kim a few moments and then said goodbye after talking to Jacob. Well, I talked. Jacob tried to eat the phone after a few rounds of Da Da Da. 

"Alex, if you can't do this..." 

"I said I was fine." 

I had to shove my temper down at Alex's sharp tone. I said, "I worry all the time too." 

"I don't want to lose him." Alex said. 

More softly, he added, "Or you." 

He let me hold him. I'm well aware that my lover is a dangerous man. I know he could kill me, always could, despite my blindness to this fact in that life before I admitted to loving him. I still savor his willingness to let me try to protect him and the way he responds to my touch. 

"I want to do something," Alex said. "Something useful. Maybe check out the records that need cataloging." 

To me that sounded like paperwork, which I have never enjoyed. Don't get me wrong. Research is great. I love research, but the reason those records still sat in musty journals was that they were more shopping lists and inventories than anything else. 

Well, I know Alex can deal with dry facts and it would probably calm him down to bury himself in research. "Sure. Let's do it." 

OooOooO 

The journals had a future as a best seller. Oh, not in books, more as a cure for insomnia. I'd be the perfect test case since I have had sleep problems since childhood. Supposedly, I had been a sleep walker before I could walk. After Sam was abducted, I don't think I ever slept through a full night without having been hit on the head or drugged. I could if all I had to read was these things. 

Bible verses jumbled with recipes, lists of material, and gossip. She listed slaves as if they were inventory at one moment and gossiped about their behavior on the next page. 

Ms. Pratt had been married to the terror of Breaker's Bend Farm. She was a lonely woman, her husband's terrible reputation leaving her out of most of the local society events, such as they were. Although slavery was a subject most of the populations chose to ignore unless they were an abolitionist or a slave holder, Mr. Pratt's occupation as a slave breaker did not fit with local sensibilities. 

Alex uttered a soft sound, one I had first heard when we were playing at partners. It was soft utterance of disgust. 

"What?" I asked. 

Looking at the dusty journal, Alex read, "I do not trust that new girl, Winnie, that my husband is training. She is a big woman and wild. Although she is with child, she does not reflect the least womanly virtue. I can tell she thinks of nothing but escape. I caught her stealing some bread today and the look she gave me when my husband beat her for it was like the devil himself." 

"A damn piece of bread," Alex said. 

I could tell Alex was thinking of his childhood, of times when he also would have risked a beating for any food he could steal. 

"Like today, people stand by and wait for someone else to help. Or they turn a blind eye to horror." 

"But some fight, my love, like you and I did." 

Alex's smile should be enjoyed by all as the wonder it is. Yet, I can't help being glad that this luminous expression is reserved for me and for Jacob. 

OooOooO 

I woke up feeling weight on my left arm. It took all of me, every mote of discipline not to scream. I was hypersensitive about any pressure or even anyone grabbing me. 

A few weeks ago, when Mulder and I were out shopping, some guy grabbed my arm. I was distracted and had almost walked into the path of some crazy ass bike messenger. I almost decked the guy. Mulder's sharp 'Alex, no.' was all that saved me from charges of assault. 

It was Mulder's hand, his beloved hand, lying across my arm. 

We had made love. That was good. It was wonderful. I've been with beautiful people. I've been with men and women who made lovemaking an art and science. Who could draw earth-shattering orgasms out of me. Not one of them can compare to Mulder. The simplest touch from him devastates me. He makes me wild. I cannot get enough of him. It doesn't even matter what we do. He can fuck me or I can fuck him. Either way, I want more even when my body is incapable of so much as a kiss. 

Mulder is stoned on sex. His face is turned toward me, a blissful smile lighting him up from the inside. His paranoia, his insomnia, vanquished by coming twice in a space of hours. That second one... I think he was jetting metaphysical cum more than semen. He fell back, muttered, "love you," and he was out. 

He isn't covered. His ass is beautiful, lean, looking better than it should for a guy his age. There is a red mark, a love bite on it. I like to think of him walking everywhere with my mark on him. 

Here we are. 

It's weird. Since we hooked up, it's been Mulder, me, and Jacob. I got to admit I often wondered if Mulder would one day look at me as if he suddenly realized he was crazy to be with me. 

The way I figured it, the first time was about lust. I'd always known Mulder had a thing for me. I wanted to bind him to me with sex and with our son. I wanted him. Don't ever think I didn't want him, but love? Like Tina said, what's love got to do with it? 

That bitch was so wrong. Love has everything to do with it. Love makes you crazy and then it makes everything seem right. Loving Mulder makes me more alive than I have ever been. 

I wish it could take away my nightmares. 

The one that woke me that night was a new one. At least, it could say that for itself. 

OooOooO 

It was me. At least, I felt it was me. Weird to wear heavy female flesh. Big soft boobs. Pendulous belly with new life kicking in it. My aching arms folded around my womb. 

I wept. I missed my children. Tom who was eleven. Last time I saw him, he was hurting from the beating the master gave him. He had fallen asleep during lunch after working a man's work all week. It took the overseer's boot to rouse him and then he cussed at the man. He had five licks of the whip. Five scars across his beautiful black skin. 

Massie who was so pretty was ten. She was nine months younger than Tom. I thought it would kill me having kids that close together. My Jacob wouldn't do that to me. He was a respectful man, the best. No, Massie wasn't his get. Master came into my cabin when I was nursing Tom. I didn't like the way he was looking at me, but I didn't want my baby hurt. 

I wanted to die when he took me. His pasty white flesh covering me. His rough hands all over me. His filthy mouth stealing the milk that belonged to my boy. 

Master gave me beads next time he saw me and a smile like we had a secret. 

I took those beads and I beat them with a rock. Beat them and beat them until they was nothing but sand. He can rape my body but not my soul. 

I told Jacob. That was the first time we ran away. The two of us and Tom. Master might have killed us but it was cotton season and he couldn't afford the loss of both of us. 

Master took Tom and gave him to Grandma Sally. Sally is a good woman, crippled in her leg so all she can do is care for children. She works in the house, caring for the master's brats. Master figured right that we would not run without our son. Master's daughters put dresses on my boy and ribbons in his hair like he was a doll. 

Finally when Tom was about four and Massie was almost four, they gave Tom back because Missus had a new baby and they needed all of Sally's time. Jacob and I had been no trouble all that time. I was pregnant with Mary 'bout then. 

Jacob had a hard time. My man was all man. You can have all the papers you want that makes a man a slave, but he won't be one if his heart is strong. 

It wasn't work that got my husband down. Jacob likes his work. His first master was as decent as any slave owner could be. He treated Jacob close to being free, teaching him to be a smith. Jacob liked the work. Liked the red hot metal molding to his hammering. He like making parts work together. He was proud of his skills. 

The only good thing about Jacob's old master getting sick and dying was that when they sold off his slaves, my master bought him. 

I remember the first time when I saw him, I had to pray. I had been raised to be a god fearing soul. I didn't think much on being married. Didn't want to settle down with children when life was hard enough as it was. 

Jacob change that. Jacob, half naked, sweat on his skin. I remember the red glow of the coals shining on his black as iron chest. I wanted him. I didn't care who knew it. 

Master was pleased enough when Jacob asked to marry me. He knew it was going to keep his smith settled down. I thought the master was happy for us when he gave us our new blanket for a wedding present. I was a young un then, didn't know any better. Didn't know he saw two strapping young people and was seeing the fine strong slaves they would breed. 

Having children settles slaves down so they say. 

Couldn't prove it by Jacob and me. The older are children grew the more we thought about following the drinking gourd. 

There was a wild man in the woods. A white man with burning eyes. He was from the north. Oh, the white folks made up stories about him. They said he ate children. That he killed the black folks who went with him. 

They didn't fool us. We knew he was freedom. We planned for a long time. We needed to wait for Mary to be strong enough to walk on her own. I had another one after her. Cutest baby you ever seen. Named him Billy. I loved that baby, but I wished I didn't have him. 

Sometimes God don't hear right or the prayer he answers is the last one you want him to grant. When Billy was laying in his swaddling when I was working, a snake bit him and nothing could save my beautiful boy. 

Master and Mistress shed tears. I believed they were real. My child was property they lost. I hated them. What kind of people would make a woman lie down her child and work in the hot sun with no one tending? 

Jacob spent three days in chains because he got drunk after Billy was laid to earth. 

I think the master was sure that he had my husband beat after that. He wrong. 

That Mister Reynard was not too happy with us wanting to get the children out. Makes it hard because they have to travel long and hard. He said no but I could tell that it wasn't a true no. He had mischief in his eyes. Pretty eyes for a white man. All green and gold and brown with a bit of the devil in them. 

We nearly made it, my man and me. Mister Reynard had gone ahead with the children in a little boat. They had just dipped out of sight when we heard those dogs, sounding like they were baying from hell. 

Jacob and I ran away from the river. We ran back the way we came. 

It took three men to bring me down. I was near to free and I didn't want to be a slave again. 

Jacob was beaten so bad that his arm was never going to set right. 

They beat me, but not as hard. I had the baby in me and was showing. 

After they finally decided we didn't know where Mr. Reynard took our children, the master put us in a wagon and brought us to Breaker's Bend. 

Mr. Pratt could break any slave they said. Good luck to him. I ain't going to break. 

I lay in my cold cabin with my hand over my baby in my body. They were going to take my baby they said. Grow him up proper as a respectful slave. 

I hear Jacob is dying. My husband beat so bad that the slave who fed him said he had to cover his eyes or he would be sick from looking at him. 

Jacob dies. I am going to go with him. It might be wrong but only way we be freed. Only way this baby of mine will never know being a slave. I promised him that. I am going to keep that promise. 

Only thing I wanted to know is how my children doing. I want to know what happen to Tom, Massie, and Mary. Did they grow up proud and free? 

OooOooO 

I couldn't stay in bed much as I hated to disturb Mulder. I knew he wouldn't sleep if he felt me get up. 

I was right. 

Mulder woke up when I moved from beneath his hand. He turned over and blinked at me. 

"What time is it?" 

"I don't know," I said, then checked the travel alarm. "About two." 

"Oh," Mulder said. He watched me root around for my jeans before getting up and grabbing his own clothes. 

"I just wanted to take a walk to clear my head," I said. 

"I'll go with you." 

I could say no. But why would I? I wanted him with me. Hard to admit I needed him, but I do. 

My feet led me back to the cliff. I stared down at the rocks. 

"She jumped," I said. 

"Who?" 

"Winnie." 

"The woman we were reading about?" 

"Yeah, Jacob's wife." 

"The way the big woman's bones were broken that could be," Mulder admitted. 

"Her husband was beaten to death and she didn't want her last baby taken from her. She wants to know where the other ones were taken." 

"Seems to me that she would just know," Mulder said. 

He was right, I guess. At least, it seems as if her spirit could just will herself to whatever place she wanted to go. 

"You know there's that theory that spirits are bound to places by violent traumatic deaths," I said. At least it wasn't DOT statistics. 

"So you're thinking she can't reach past this place where she died?" 

Mulder doesn't believe in everything. He's a brilliant man and people who mistake his openness for lack of reason are making a bad mistake. 

When I close my eyes, I see her clearly. It's night, and she is a large woman in a tattered dress. Her hair has gone wild, tangled curls flying around a broad face. Her teeth are very white and she has them bared. The thin material of her smock hardly conceals her body. Her belly is huge and looks even bigger because she is gaunt. She runs to death as if to a lover. She is not afraid. 

A man grabs her at the edge. She laughs, and pulls him over the cliff with her. 

I don't know. It was her choice and I try to understand. I decided to live every time I considered killing myself. 

Was it braver to live or die? I don't know, but if I had to make the choice to leave Jacob in Spender's hands or die with him, I think I know I would have chosen death. 

I lived through it all, but at least I'd had something when Spender got his hands on me. My mother loved me. Her love kept me going when I was too little to survive without it. My father tried to put doubt in my soul when I was a teenager, but Mulder showed me my faith in my mother was not misplaced. 

I could feel her hungry need to know that her sacrifice meant something. 

"There was a white abolitionist helping them. They called him Mr. Reynard." 

"I doubt that was his name, Alex." 

"I know that!" I said. Mulder knew I wasn't stupid, far from it. 

"On the other hand, there were several men named Fox who were involved in the abolition movement both here and in England. It is possible that the man who tried to help your friends was really named Fox." 

"We have to find him," I said. 

"Okay," Mulder said. "We will." 

That's the thing about Mulder. Tell him to do something impossible and if he tells you he'll do it, he will do it. 

OooOooO 

"Here's another one," I said. 

I think naming a guy Fox makes him contrary. At least, there were any number of Mister Foxes named in the research I was doing. They all seemed to have been as rebellious as my Fox. 

There was an entire family named Reynard in Kansas. I marked that as a promising lead. The grandfather was an abolitionist before there was a word for it. There were references to the grandsons being runners for the underground railroad. 

I don't know what I hope to find with all my searching. Even if we could find the right Mr. Fox or Mr. Reynard, what would he have done with three slave children? 

I wasn't the kind of person who put faith in dreams, but I believed what Winnie had conveyed to me. I believed that her Mister Reynard had taken the children to freedom. What I wasn't sure was what he would have done with them after he realized their parents had been recaptured. 

It wasn't as if he could easily find a foster family for them. American blacks might have been free in the North, but that didn't mean life was easy. 

A lot of people kept journals back then. I hope that our fellow remembered the dramatic events that I had seen in my dream. He surely must have remembered having three orphans with which to deal. That couldn't have been an every day event. 

OooOooO 

We could have gone home to do the research, but Alex wanted to do the research here, because he felt close to Jacob and Winnie. We had both brought our laptops and we had internet access on the island. I have membership to more than JSTOR; I have access to almost every web archive that exists. It wasn't just porn that kept me surfing the web late at night. Besides if there was a web site somewhere that might have a key, Alex could have hacked it with one eye open. So we would stay. Maybe I would finally see one of the ghosts. 

Way back when, before Alex's betrayal, I'd started to like him, despite myself. I'd resisted it, but I could sense he and I had things in common. Like obsession. Me obsessed with the loss of my sister and the unfurling conspiracy. 

Him? 

Sounds vain, but he was obsessed with me. Yeah, he was chosen for me, damn near programmed for me, but I don't think they meant him to be a self-guided missile, aimed directly at me. 

Alex and I are a lot alike. We both focus on our goal and that's all we can think about. 

We both are skeptical but can accept something out of the realm of reason when it is the most reasonable answer. 

All in all, I was willing to believe Alex when he told me he was sure that Winnie was communicating through him. 

"Why you?" 

I wished I didn't sound jealous when I asked. Still, why him? I would have thought I was perfectly acceptable material for haunting! 

"I don't know. I've never been haunted before," Alex said. "Maybe it was because Jacob and I were captive here. She feels kinship with that." He frowned, then added, "I was bought and sold, too." 

I reached to comfort my lover, but how can you make that better? His father had, in fact, sold him for a better job. My father had sold my sister for his cause. Both of them were bastards. Maybe that was another thing that held us together. All that pain, out of which came Jacob and the love we have. 

OooOooO 

"You have visitors." 

Jan didn't look happy. 

I knew that expression well. I wore it when Walter demanded some ridiculous paperwork in the middle of a compelling case. I never thought I would be a boss who interfered with the real work. 

My heart jumped as I saw Walter with an expression between embarrassment and relief. He was followed by a frazzled Kim 

Jacob made that sobbing gulp sound that reminds me guiltily of his other father. Alex made that sound when I had hurt him badly. 

"What happened? Is someone after him?" 

I thought Spender had returned despite all the measures we took to the contrary. In my world, dead didn't mean forever. 

"No, no one's after him," Walter said. He looked more unsettled, if possible, than when he'd gotten out of the car. 

"Nothing human," Kim added darkly. Kim has become my protegee since the alien's reality was revealed. She wants to believe in other mysteries and is always bugging me about my old cases. Walter is bemused by her interest. I have the feeling he would like to erase all the events of the last decade and pretend the alien invasion had never happened. 

Alex took Jacob from my hands, kissing his chubby cheeks and surreptitiously checking him for injuries. 

"He's fine," Walter said. 

"Then why bring him here?" Alex asked. 

Walter's face turned beet red. He said, "Kim insisted." 

"I could hear him cooing like he does when he is trying to talk to someone he likes," Kim said. "I opened the door and there was a black man in an old fashioned suit standing over him. He looked at me and spoke, but I couldn't hear him." 

Kim took a brown envelope from her purse and extracted a peculiar looking document. 

I took it and saw, 'School for black children burned.' It must have been a replica of an old newspaper as it was set with authentic period type on paper of the era. Yet it was new, not crumpled with age. 

Alex leaned against me; it was distracting. I should be immune by now, but he still made me think about our bed every time he touched me. 

Jacob drooled on me and that worked well to bring me back to the here and now. 

The article was short, stating that the school was started by Mr. James Reynard and that no lives were lost in the event. Arson was suspected, but no arrests were made. Mr. Reynard stated he would rebuild. The article mentioned that Mr. Reynard had taken in five black children. 

"That's him," Alex said, "Our abolitionist, Mr. Reynard." 

"A few too many children if you are right about your Winnie having three children plus the one that was never born." 

I love that little V that formed whenever Alex was annoyed or confused. I liked to see it form just so I could kiss it away. Alex impatiently said, "Once he had three of them, it was just as easy to take in more." 

I couldn't help hoping that more children was not an option Alex considered when he thought about having Jacob. One adorable little boy was a miracle, albeit one that produced some truly spectacular messy diapers and had a habit of sampling everything in his environment in his mouth. I'm not really cut out for fatherhood, never thought I was. Jacob and William were more than enough to strain my admittedly weak parental skills. 

"Stop it," Alex grumbled. "I'm not talking about us." 

I hated it when he read my mind. "So our next stop is Kansas." 

"Just call me, Toto," Alex replied. He shifted Jacob in his arms, the left one wobbling a little. 

"So do you think we should send Jacob back with Walter and Kim?" I asked, knowing the answer. 

"He's safer with us if he's going to attract ghosts." 

William has problems with aliens. Jacob attracts ghosts. Ordinary families struggle over colic. 

OooOooO 

It was weird traveling with Jacob and Mulder. I had settled into a routine with our son before Spender screwed with us again. Enough people in the neighborhood saw Mulder and me together with Jacob to figure out the composition of our little family. We got the gamut of reactions from disgust to people who thought we were cute. Not that I gave a shit. My life got me the inside view of things that people wanted to hide. The only people whose opinion I cared about were in this rented car. People were used to us at home, now, traveling together, we were getting the same curious looks as we used to get when we first became a family. 

I had insisted on a Volvo station wagon after checking safety ratings. Considering the miracle of his life, Jacob didn't need to be put at risk by a road trip. He was asleep again, drool down his face. I craned around to look at him. I think his nose is starting to grow, looking more like Mulder's. 

I keep thinking Jacob is more Mulder's kid than mine. The older our son becomes, the more curious he seems. He's always looking at the world with eyes the color of mine, but with that wide open look that Mulder used to have. Come to think of it, the sparkle was back in my lover's eyes, too, not that whipped cur look he'd worn toward the end of all the shit the world had thrown at us all those years ago. 

It startled me to see that Jacob was awake and staring right at me. Do kids normally wake up silently or had I passed that trick to him along with the genes of my beleaguered body? 

"Awake?" I said to Jacob. "Suppose you want to eat again?" 

"Eaa!" Jacob replied. 

Jacob was just now starting to talk. He had been a late walker too, compared to Mulder and me. I'd kept the worry to myself as I read about problems with cloned animals. It's not that I'd have loved Jacob less if he was slow, but it was a hard world out there. I wanted my son to have a fighting chance to survive. 

Mulder was driving, his eyes vacant. I put my hand on his thigh and said, "Pancake house ahead. We stop." 

"Why?" 

"Jacob wants to eat." 

"He has your appetite." 

I'd been stealing from the guard's garbage while Mulder had been turning his nose up at sandwiches with the crusts on. 

Not that Jacob would ever experience hunger like that. Not while I was alive to prevent it. 

Mulder glanced my way and must have read my expression. He signaled right and headed for the exit. "Alex, don't take everything so seriously." 

Good advice, if only I could take it. It's not that I don't have a sense of humor, although it's more a defense mechanism than anything else. I guess I tend to get nervous when Mulder gets mouthy with me. Like he's going to wake up someday realizing he's not only sleeping with the enemy, he married him. 

Jacob insisted on walking to the restaurant, which meant it took twice as long. He walked like a punch drunk fighter, wobbling and trying to look at everything at once. He had to stop as a bird flew by, squealing and pointing, pulling his arms free to flap them. He looked so disappointed when nothing happened. I wish I could make him fly. 

I looked up and met Mulder's sappy expression with my own. Funny thing this procreation business. You fall in love with a creature that spends three years being a pain in the ass to carry around, only to spend the next fifteen evolving away from you. 

I could use logic all night and be as cynical as the next guy, but none of it cured me of what I felt when Jacob smiled. He made me melt even more than his other father did. 

Mulder hefted Jacob up as we went through the door, but still managed to spare a hand for my arm. I loved it when he did that. He told the world I was his. Funny guy. As if there was a line forming to grab me away. 

The waitress cooed at Jacob as she rolled up a high chair. My boy loved pancakes and it couldn't hurt him to have what he liked. We fed him enough healthy shit most of the time, even those biliously orange yams. Poor kids. Shove food like that at them when they were too young to protest. 

Mulder ordered absently. I like the omelets where you pick and choose what you want, and I wanted pretty much everything in mine. The waitress wore her hair in Dorothy pigtails and was dressed in a gingham dress. It was the theme of the restaurant. She turned her charms on Mulder, who responded absently as he perused the menu. I reached across to position my hand across Mulder's, claiming him and also pointing out the matching rings. The waitress was a smart woman, noticed my action and got the point right away. She straightened, her hand pulling her lacy neckline tighter. Her face pinked. 

Mulder came out of his daze to smile at me wryly. He ordered Jacob a smiley face pancake. 

"Jealous?" Mulder asked me after the waitress left. 

"Nah, you can have her. Too wholesome for me." 

"You prefer a lisping, blonde Elvira wannabe?" 

Ah, yes, Marita... I'd told Mulder that it had been a buddy fuck kind of thing, but he still didn't trust her around me. Kind of like the way I felt about Scully. 

"Mine," I said, gripping Mulder's hand. 

His answering smile made me warm all over. "Yeah, yours," Mulder agreed. 

Maybe there would come a time when I wasn't always so anxious about Mulder. Maybe, if we lived to be a hundred, I would take him for granted. Not now. Probably not ever. Custom could not stale his infinite variety. Shakespeare must have had it bad for someone, whether it was his dark laddy or dark lady or both. Will would have understood what I felt for Mulder. We could have each other every day, every night, yet even still the look of him, one touch from him, and I was famished for him. 

Jacob threw the little packet of crackers on the floor and pounded on the tray of his baby chair. His lower lip, the one that reminded me so much of Mulder, was drooping and a drop of drool slid down the incline. I swiped his face with a napkin. 

"He's teething," Mulder said. "I hope he has your teeth. You have cute teeth." 

Mulder didn't know I'd had them straightened a bit before I went into the academy. It wasn't really my idea. My handlers had put me on diet, given me a skin treatment since I was still breaking out at twenty four, and given me an exercise regime. All that and Mulder still hadn't fallen for Baby Agent Krycek. Me, I think they got his kinks wrong. Should have sent me to him in leather or maybe just naked in handcuffs. 

"What are you thinking about?" Mulder asked. 

"You," I replied. "Always about you." 

I gave Jacob back his crackers. This time he crumbled them into his mouth. Babies are so weird. Sometimes Jacob showed that he was thinking. Other times, he was just a little eating and pooping machine. Hard to believe this little guy, driven by simple needs, would grow up to be as complex a being as Mulder and I were. I hoped he would have more happy memories than either of us. 

"Do you think that there is any reason why Kim would have seen your ghosts looking in on our son?" 

"Looking for answers just like we are," I speculated. 

"It seems that Jacob somehow became the focal point for your ghosts," Mulder mused. "The fact that he has the same name as the father might be part of it. Possibly, also the similarities between what had happened to Winnie and her family and what was happening to you and our son?" 

"Yeah," I agreed. 

Our food arrived and I was hungry. The mystery could wait until we had eaten. I cut up Jacob's food for him. Mulder snatched the bacon to go with his pie. Jacob grabbed a piece of pancake and fisted it into his mouth. We were working on the concept of silverware, but Jacob didn't really buy the idea when he had perfectly good fingers that worked just fine. 

Leaving Jacob with a decorative spoon in one hand and his pancake in the other, I dug into my omelet. It was good with extra cheese, just the way I liked. A gooey omelet was a good one in my books. Mulder stole a bite from me, but repaid me with a piece of his pie. I ate the bite from his fork, ignoring Midwest sensibilities. 

Jacob was my bridge to Winnie. I understood what she felt, the need to protect and to give him a good life. I was luckier than she had been. For the most part, we knew our enemies and the world was neutral. Winnie and Jacob had lived in a world with few allies, and where there was no justice for a slave. I had lived like that for much of my life. I still suspected the world wasn't as kind as it might seem. That's why I felt better keeping Jacob with Mulder and me. No one could protect him as we did. 

OooOooO 

The Reynard family had lived in Topeka. The grandfather had made his money in shipping and the son invested in several inventions that had garnered more money. William Reynard, one of the grandsons, had owned a newspaper, an abolitionist rag as it was described at the time. His brother, James, was a school teacher, but seemed to have seldom been employed. He traveled extensively until he suddenly seemed to have acquired three black children. The local gossip implied the children were his own and he seemed amused by that. 

We found that out by stopping at the African American museum. It seemed likely that Mr. Reynard was the Foxy fellow who had tried to free Jacob and Winnie. Sadly, he'd only succeeded in freeing the three children. 

No lightening flash occurred when we confirmed that detail so I guess it would take more than just uncovering facts. 

"Happen to know what the Stupendous Yappi is doing these days? Maybe he could ask your ghosts what they wanted." 

"They aren't my ghosts," Alex said. 

"Well, they have chosen to appear to you, and Jacob, and Kim..." 

For such indiscriminately appearing ghosts, they seemed to be avoiding me. Perhaps I had some kind of ectoplasm repellent. 

Alex arched his neck as he did when he was nervous or unhappy. "There has to be some reason... Why would Winnie and Jacob need us to find out what happened to the children?" 

"Maybe there are rules?" I grinned, thinking about Beetle Juice and the hapless couple that had lost their guide to the spirit world. 

"It's not funny, Mulder," Alex growled. "These ghosts want something and I don't want them communicating through Jacob." 

Okay, neither did I. Holding up a pamphlet, I said, "I think we need to pay a visit to Reynard College. Who knows we might want to send William and Jacob there someday." 

OooOooO 

Headmaster Jones might have been desperate for tuition, but he didn't seem to think Jacob was ready for dorm life. His meaty lip almost quivered as he perused my little son. "Mr. Mulder, Mr. Krycek, I'm a busy man and I don't have time for pranks. Reynard College is one of the oldest African American colleges in the United States." 

"You wanted to see me again, Headmaster?" 

The voice was sour, sullen, and belonged to a very pretty biracial girl. 

She was well dressed, very chic. Her hair was done up in some elaborate braided arrangement. She was obviously at least half white, her skin a perfect warm honey color. She had lucked out, inheriting eyes that would have done Nefertiti proud. Her full lips were pure her, no artificial enhancement needed. A lovely girl... but the expression she wore was deeply unhappy. 

As I understand it, being unhappy is common during the teen and early adult years. It is almost obligatory to be filled with angst. I wouldn't know. I'd been too busy trying to stay alive at eighteen to have time to note my emotions. 

Jacob squirmed to get down from my arms and I looked to Mulder for help. Jacob slid down and toddled toward the sullen beauty. 

"Pretty!' 

Hmm, must have Mulder's bisexual genes. I'm about fifteen percent bi. I can get it up for a woman, but she's never my first choice. 

Even an angsty teenager couldn't resist Jacob. She bent and smiled at my son. "Oh, aren't you the cutest thing?" 

"Headmaster Jones, I think you misunderstood us. We're not here to check for future colleges for Jacob. My partner administers a large charitable fund." 

Attitude changed immediately. Headmaster Jones said, "Let me get a student to show you around." 

"This young lady will do," I said. 

"Oh, Missy Reynard is um...she has a heavy schedule and won't be available." 

"Mr. Jones, the funds I administer are large, but that doesn't mean I want to waste them. I want to see the college through the eyes of a typical student rather than someone you handpick." 

"Missy Reynard is not a typical student." 

"Hey, I'm not mean, Headmaster. Let me try to do this and maybe if I do a good job, you won't call my parents." 

OooOooO 

"I found out what my birth mother's name was I started calling myself Missy Reynard," the girl explained. "My adoptive parents are okay, but... sometimes I feel like some kind of lie when I'm with them." 

"It was supposed to be an open adoption," Missy said as we walked through the library. It was a beautiful room, wood gone golden with age, and huge cathedral windows with engravings of a fox standing upright. 

"My parents always told me how special I was. How my mom loved me too much to have me want for anything. You know what it was? She was raped and she couldn't get me out of her life fast enough. That open adoption contract was a joke. I don't know why I changed my name to hers. I should change it back." 

The college was old and beautiful, but you could tell that it needed attention. The campus was slightly overgrown as if the maintenance staff did not have time to trim the hedges on a regular schedule. Some of the newer buildings looked as if they needed a coat of paint. Cracked walkways went without repair to the point of risking a law suit. 

"Headmaster Jones says people don't care about Black colleges anymore. Which is what I said to my parents when they enrolled me." 

I smiled. I liked Missy. I was a pill as a teenager, too. I had good reason I guess, but I hope William and Jacob don't have to rebel as much as I did. I ran away constantly to every UFO, science fiction convention, or spiritualist event I heard about. My grades never suffered, though. I could easily complete all of my work in half the time my fellow students spent. 

"So why did you decided to attend Reynard College?" 

"I didn't. My parents thought I was angry because I needed my black identity. I sure didn't need some podunk college that can't afford to replace ten year old computers! The only reason I agreed was that I thought I might be able to find my mother and ask her why she lied on that contract." 

"What do you mean she lied?" 

"About seeing me once a year!" Missy said. "She never showed up." 

"You looked for her?" 

"Like, duh," Missy said. "Nobody knows where she went. I did find my grandparents. They're nice people. Kind of boring. Big on the Baptist church. They have like this shrine to my mother, Olivia. All these years later, her room is the same as it was the day she disappeared. Her clothes are hung in the closet. Her makeup is on her dresser. Her rock posters hang on the walls. First thing you see when you walk into her parent's house is a big picture of her. I guess I look like her." 

"They have no idea where she is?" 

"No, they said she said she was going to a job interview one day and never came back. They think the guy who raped her had something to do with it." 

Missy's voice trembled. "I didn't need to know my father was like that. Some creepy rapist." 

"We aren't who our parents were," Alex said. 

I nodded. Both of us knew about bad parentage. 

"What if he's a murderer along with being a rapist?" 

I looked at Alex. I had a feeling that I knew what Jacob and Winnie wanted. It was no great leap to figure out who Missy was... a great-great grandchild of that brave couple. One who bore the name of the hero of the man who brought her great grand parent to freedom. 

She needed help and we had the skills. 

OooOooO 

Having a kid was proving to be no easy thing while working on a case. Jacob was a good kid, but before we were even finished with our mock review of the college, he was whining. He needed a nap and he was over-stimulated. I blame the last on Mulder. Mulder gets hyper too, although he only whines every once in a while. 

I handed Jacob to Mulder again and said to Missy, "How would you like us to find out what happened to your Mom? Mulder and I used to be FBI agents?" 

"They kick you out for being gay?" Missy asked. 

I grinned. If it were only that simple. I said, "I left early on and I'm not that dumb. They never found out. Mulder and I got together recently." 

"So what's with Jacob? You get some lesbian lady to make him for you?" 

"No, he's my cousin's child by Mulder. It's a long story." 

"I can tell you something. Don't make up any pretty lies. A kid doesn't like it when they find out the truth." 

I grimaced. Yeah, I had considered that. The truth. Would Mulder's lifelong obessionobsession with truth be passed on to Jacob? 

Weird, someday Jacob would be the age of this young woman. Would he have Mulder's relentless drive to know everything, anything? Would he be as restless as my husband, always reaching out to hold intangibles in his hands? 

I hoped he wouldn't have my luck... at least, the luck I'd had before he brought me into Mulder's life. 

If we did tell our son the truth, then I could only wish that Jacob would have my innate sense of caution. He would need my ability to lie in order to keep his life from being unbearably hard. 

Missy lifted an eyebrow and said, "Funny how he looks like both of you." 

"My cousin and I looked a lot alike," I replied. 

"She must be pretty. How come she gave him to you guys?" 

"She died," I said. 

"I'm sorry," Missy said. "So how are you going to find my birth mother? You just feed her stuff into a computer? I tried that." 

"We have a few sources you wouldn't have access to," Alex told her. 

She didn't ask. Smart girl, Missy. 

OooOooO 

He's sexy like this, so deep into his work that he has no sense of self. Jacob was getting antsy in our hotel room. Kids like being home, I guess. He wanted his familiar things and since he wasn't capable of saying so, he whined and fussed. 

After a while, I rolled my son into his blanket, swaddling him. He was old for it, but my mother swore by this method of calming kids down. After some more complaining, he finally fell asleep. 

"How did you get to be so smart about kids?" my husband asked. 

It startled me that Mulder could pay attention to anything but the task at hand. 

"I don't know what you mean," I said, absently rearranging the blanket so Jacob wouldn't overheat. 

Mulder tapped at his key board a few times then leaned back, his hands folded over his belly. "You know how to get him to sleep. You know what he wants to eat. If I wasn't crazy about both of you, I'd be jealous." 

Truth was, I'd never understood why Mulder expected me to take care of Jacob or why he had trusted me to do so. Hey, if it was me looking at the situation, I wouldn't have allowed my son to be cared for by someone like me. 

"I'm so scared that I'll screw up, Alex," Mulder said quietly. "I don't want my sons to hate me the way I hated my father. I don't want them to loathe me, yet still hope someday to earn my approval. Aren't you afraid that there's too much of your father in you?" 

You know, now that I think about it, that's not one of my fears. I know that my life is my own. I'd let my father's sins rule me for far too long. When I'd finally stood up for myself, I'd purged everything of that cold hearted bastard from my soul. 

"Mulder, you will never be your father, either of them. William and Jacob adore you. You are a wonderful father." 

Poor Mulder would never really believe that. I hated both of those assholes for what they'd done to him. Mulder would never see himself for the hero he was. 

I must have let my thoughts show in my expression because Mulder's face lit up with one of his rare smiles. Maybe it's good that he doesn't do that very often because it makes me want my clothes to melt away so I could fall on the nearest flat surface and let him fuck me into oblivion. 

Mulder took a step toward me and then muttered, "Work first." 

"Yeah," I said, but my heart wasn't in it. 

Mulder sat back down and finished transmitting information to his Gunmen. 

I used my encrypted codes to connect to Consortium resources. I didn't think Olivia Reynard had been abducted, but you never knew. 

Mulder said, "They're working on it." 

I nodded toward my laptop. Yeah, I'm running searches too. 

Mulder's eyes smoldered at me. I could feel the heat and I loved it. 

"I don't want Jacob to wake up," Mulder said. 

"The bathroom is big," I mentioned. 

That was all it took. 

Anytime, Mulder... Anytime, anywhere, anyhow. 

I know it's supposed to get old, but honestly, ever try not breathing? That first gasp...that's what it's like with my Mulder. It's need, deeper than lust. 

As we shut the door behind us, Mulder let loose a sound between a sigh and a whimper. 

Undressing in a rush of hands, we kissed as if each of us was food after famine. 

I could easily come just from Mulder's touch and his kiss, but there are ways that are more fun. 

I never thought I would see Mulder kneeling at my feet, eyes glancing up for a moment to sear his passion for me into my very soul. 

His lush lower lip dragged agonizingly over my sensitized flesh. I held myself up, one hand pressed against the wall and the other resisting the temptation to drag Mulder's head closer by his soft, unruly hair. 

I held back a groan of pure delight as Mulder takes me deep and then lets me slide back out, feeling his mouth, his hard-working tongue the entire way. 

As I trembled on the edge, Mulder suddenly stopped. My grunt of surprise and disappointment only abated when he turned me around, gently opening me with fingers and tongue. 

Mulder's the only one who could ever make this act feel so fantastic for me. I'd never really minded being fucked, but Mulder... Mulder rocks my world. 

I never wanted it to stop... well, that's not completely true. Everything leading up to coming feels great, but ultimately I wanted to go over that edge. 

Mulder's breath was hot on my back, his mouth pressed so tight against me that it muffled his pants and his groans of pleasure. 

Knowing you have to keep quiet makes it harder not to yell out what you're feeling for any and all to hear. 

His movements quickened, his hand coaxing me into an explosion of pleasure. I soared, and he was with me. Always with me... 

OooOooO 

Afterwards, we showered together, spent, but even so Mulder touched me with such gentleness like the loving husband he is. 

We didn't even check the computers before tumbling into the bed, both of us too weary to resist sleep. 

I woke up to the familiar sound of keyboarding. I sleepily got up and checked on Jacob. He was still sleeping. His hair curling with sweat. His cheeks were pink and I checked his temperature, maybe a bit over concerned, but when you have something good after a life like mine, it scares you. I always worried that something would go wrong. Jacob was fine though, and I let him sleep. 

I stretched, feeling a few sore spots. Mulder glanced over at me and his gaze was warm. I used the head and then went to check on my computer's progress with my searches. 

Unfortunately, I'd been right. There was nothing useful on Olivia Reynard in the files. No, wait, there was something. The project kept a lot of information that might be useful on anyone remotely important. 

I found a small file on Harold Manson Sr. My old bosses kept information on anyone they thought might be useful, even a councilman in Topeka, Kansas. The case report noted that Harold's son, Hal, had a rape charge filed against him by Olivia Reynard. The girl and the charges both vanished a few months later.. 

Hal's father, Harold Manson, had owned a bank, a great deal of real estate, and had done pretty well on the stock market. He'd had three kids, two daughters who'd been good students and whose worst problem was an occasional speeding ticket. Then there was Junior. Harold Jr. had been the oldest child and seemed to have a bad case of only son syndrome. He'd had a lot of legal charges with no conviction:, drinking, marijuana possession, and a couple date rape things that Papa had probably bought off. His criminal record ended when he was twenty and Daddy shipped him off to a private treatment facility that also handled psychiatric problems without any labels or records. 

Following that trail, I hacked into Hal Manson's credit records. The guy used escort services like Mulder had once used porn - before I came along and cured him of the habit. 

Hal Manson might have continued his habit of rape, but he must have sublimated it into brutality against professional escorts because his records as an adult showed no more charges. 

Mulder sounded excited as he revealed his own finds. 

"We got reports of ghost sightings!" 

Just what I would have gotten Mulder for Christmas if Harrods could have provided it. 

"Yeah? Anything like what I saw?" 

"No. A girl appears on curve of road hitchhiking. When someone stops, she disappears. Ten reports in the last eighteen years, which means more people probably saw her and didn't report it." 

"That's a common urban legend," I pointed out. 

"Just because it's a legend, doesn't mean that it can't be based on truth every once in a while." 

That's my Mulder. 

OooOooO 

After making arrangements for Missy to babysitbaby-sit Jacob, Mulder and I went to interview the latest person to report a sighting of the ghost. Muriel Janssen was a large woman, husky but not fat, who worked as a bailiff. She looked as if she could bench press both of us and still not break into a sweat. 

"I dropped it because they were questioning my sanity," Janssen said. She brushed her hand through her unruly red hair with a big freckled hand. "I know what I saw. She was standing there with tears running down her face. She was a pretty black girl with beautifully braided hair, couldn't have been very old, no more than eighteen. I saw her dress was torn. She was holding up the top with one hand, waving at me with the other." 

"I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911 for help, but she looked so pitiful that I got out of the car and walked toward her. I'm telling you, she looked solid, real, I could see a bloody spot along her temples and she had bruises on her face. She took a step toward me and then she just faded away. I just about dropped my gun. I don't know. My eyes told me that she had disappeared, but my head couldn't accept it. You know I never was one to believe in the supernatural..." 

"Me either," Mulder blandly offered. 

I snorted and he glared at me before going back to the interview. 

"Did you see anything else?" 

"Yes, I saw her a few feet away walking towards the woods," Janssen said. "I wanted to believe that I hadn't been paying close attention and had simply missed her moving away. I ran after her, thinking she was in shock. She faded out again, merging into a copse of thick brush. I wanted them to search, but they treated me as if I was hysterical." She frowned, then added in a fierce tone, "I do not get hysterical." 

"Can you show us where this happened?" 

"I can, but it won't do you much good. That plot of land was up for sale as long as I could remember but two days later the crime tape they put up was replaced by one of those temporary fences and a sold sign was up. Since then, the place has been fenced off. No building. No nothing." 

"Who bought it?" I asked, knowing the answer already. 

"Harold Manson," Janssen said. She grimaced. "His son, Hal, owns it now. If I wasn't so near retirement, I'd tell you about that asshole." 

Mulder and I looked at each other. Manson might not have been able to buy Olivia off as he had the other girls. If Missy was like her, Olivia would have been strong-willed. 

It was time to talk to Olivia's family  
OooOooO 

The Reynard house was an older two-story house with an attic and a welcoming porch, the kind of place I sometimes dreamed about buying for Alex and Jacob. 

The steps were freshly painted, as were the wrought iron rails. A scripture was embedded in a plaque that was nailed to the sturdy door. A young man answered who bore a resemblance to Missy. "Hello?" he said, a question in his voice. 

"I'm Agent Mulder and this is my assistant, Alex Krycek," I said. "I'm looking into the disappearance of Olivia Reynard. 

"Aren't you eighteen years too late?" the young man said, his voice crackling with anger. "No one would listen when Grandpa and Grandma asked for help back then." 

I think he would have shut the door but an older lady's voice asked, "Tim, who is it?" 

The young man looked as if he wanted to lie, but he must have been too well raised to be untruthful. He said, "Grandma, these men are asking questions about Olivia." 

"They must be the ones that Missy called me about," the woman said. "Let them in, Tim, they're here to help." 

Melissa Reynard's voice was serene with age. She was thin, held herself proudly, and had a slender neck, only slightly bent with her years. 

"I'm Agent Mulder and this is my partner, Alex Krycek. I work for the FBI." There was no direct lie in that. I hated to lie, but I had a feeling the exact truth wouldn't play in Topeka. 

"Let me make you some tea," Mrs. Reynard said. 

Mr. Reynard came clumping in as we sat down. His genes had not passed on to Missy in abundance. He was thick, with bullish shoulders, a grizzle of close cropped curls surrounding his bald spot. He looked at Alex and me as if he wanted to throw us out. 

"What do these folks want?" he growled, sounding like Skinner in a surly mood. 

"These are the young men that Missy found to help us," Mrs. Reynard explained. 

The pain that crossed his face wounded me as well. I could understood his loss now. I thought I had when I thought of Samantha as I dealt with the mourning survivors of my cases. Much as I had adored my sister, the thought of losing either of my sons caused me paralyzing fear. Maybe I should rejoice in my knowledge. I wasn't Bill Mulder or Charles Spender. My children would never be sacrificed to my truths. 

"We think we can prove what happened to your daughter." 

"You think we don't know? She wouldn't tell me until I swore on my Lord Jesus that I wouldn't go after that animal! She'd never have told me, except she couldn't stand my disappointment over her being in a family way. Finally, she told her mother what happened, and my wife made her tell me after she got that promise from me. I thought she was going to tell me that one of her beaus took advantage. I figured on a shotgun wedding not a trip to the police station... for all the good it did." 

Mr. Reynard shook his heavy head. "You know, I have never been one to complain. I'm a hard-working man and I felt respected for that. There are bad white folks and there are good ones. It's been a blessing on my life that I've met more of the good ones. Course, you may have heard the family history. My great, great grandfather was adopted by a white man, Mr. James Reynard. He educated him, set him up in business, and gave him and his two sisters a good life. He adopted two other black kids, too. There are Reynards all over this county, black ones and white ones, every shade in between. Mr. James never had any natural kids, bless his soul. He never married, just raised his five kids to be good kind folks." 

I wondered if Mr. Reynard had had more reason than his flock of black kids to stop him from marrying. I held my tongue though. This house was as full of Christian art as any church. 

The tea was thick and sweet, the way sweet tea was served in the summer, except over ice. The sugar cookies were homemade and I ate one. Alex stopped at two. He has a sweet tooth that he thinks I don't know about. 

"I know this is painful, but I need to know about the day Olivia disappeared." 

"She was going to a job interview. Olivia was restless especially after the baby was adopted out. You know, we didn't want her to do that, but Olivia was headstrong. She said she wanted Missy to have a family that regarded her as a beautiful miracle. She was afraid that if we raised her we might be always watching her for signs of resemblance to the miserable monster that fathered her." 

"There was a church supper that day," Mrs. Reynard said. "I was excited about it and had to go. If only..." 

"Now don't go talking that way," Mr. Reynard interjected. "It wasn't your fault. You want to blame me for working overtime?" His gnarled hands twisted on the table edge. "Her friend, Jenny, was going to drive her. Turns out Jenny's car wouldn't start. She told Olivia they could go another day, but my girl wouldn't listen. She said she would hitchhike into town and catch the bus. We called the sheriff when she wasn't back by nightfall, but he said Olivia was an adult. He said she might have run off, as much as said that she was no better than she should have been. He was a good friend of Harold Manson, that sheriff." 

"Olivia was a good girl, honor roll, prom queen, beautiful and smart," Mrs. Reynard interjected. "She was the one of my children I hardly ever worried about, other than her civil rights work. That made me frightened for her, but I was proud too. Oh, she had boyfriends, but she always said she wanted to marry after college. Wanted to make her own way. That's why I was so shocked when I realized she was in a family way." 

"I raised her too good to go get an abortion. Mrs. Reynard said "She told me that her innocent baby not should suffer for what that man did to her. She thought giving Missy up was the best thing, but she was never the same after, always worried about whether Missy would grow up to hate her. It's powerful hard to see that girl. She's so much like my daughter. 

We scraped together enough money to hire a private detective for all the good it did. No Olivia, no trace of her, like she walked out of this house into space 

Ms. Reynard was silently weeping. "You want to see her room?" She asked in a thick voice. 

I doubted it would tell us anything, but I nodded just to allow Ms. Reynard time to recover. 

The room was a sad shrine. It made a hard knot in my throat. When Samantha disappeared, my mother had cleared her room instantly, taking every trace of her away. I never could ask her how much she knew because I was afraid she would answer. 

This meticulously preserved room was a testimony to real grief. 

"We kept hoping she would come home," Mr. Reynard said, "Then after we knew there was no hope, we couldn't stand to admit it, take her things down." 

My eyes caught details... a civil rights banner, a portrait of Dr. King. The contrast was sharp next to a poster of a young Michael Jackson. Her books were an odd mixture of civil right manifestos and romance novels. Olivia Reynard had been a lively, bright young woman. What a waste for her to have been killed to conceal a crime. 

There was nothing in the room that would help us. I said, "I can't make any promises, but Alex and I believe that Olivia was killed by Hal Manson. We're going to try to prove it." 

A sob forced its way out of Mrs. Reynard. She said, "I'd be content if you could find my Olivia's body and let us lay her to rest in Christian burial." 

All I could do was nod. I wanted to promise, but I know what false hope does to a person. 

OooOooO 

We headed back to Muriel's house. She had said she wanted to help and that she had an idea. When we arrived, she was with a tawny haired woman, lean with a larger nose than one expected to see on the female of the species. The woman had a beautiful dog with her, a long haired creature with a coat that consisted of red and white splotches. It had no tail at all that I could see. 

Preternaturally blue eyes took our measure. The dog started a high pitched bark but quieted on command, contenting itself with a steady gaze in our direction. 

The woman reminded me of my Mulder, and he looked at her as if he had a sudden hope. I realized that he thought for one moment she might be Samantha. My heart broke for him. If I could have traded my arm in return for giving his sister back to him, I would have done it in a New York minute. Even if it meant having to endure that awful agony I would all over again. 

"This is Natalie Reynard, Olivia's cousin," Muriel said. "She is part of search and rescue. Her dog is cadaver trained." 

I could tell Mulder wanted to ask Natalie if she was an adoptee. He just kept looking at her. 

"Murry never told me about the ghost," Natalie said. "If I had known, I would have searched the area before." 

"You know that this won't be a legal search," I said. I almost snorted as I heard an echo of long dead Agent Krycek in my voice. "If we find anything, we won't be able to exhume the remains." 

"I understand," Natalie said. "Olivia has been a family legend since her death. You know, this isn't anything new. A hundred years ago, the Manson family were the main suspects in burning down James Reynard's school. He was my great, great uncle... one hell of a guy. He's the founder of the black side of my family. I'm descended from his brother, William. He ran this radical newspaper that was mostly about the abolition of slavery." 

Natalie grinned and said, "So I'm a history buff, sue me." 

Mulder finally stirred from his shock. He said, "Your family couldn't do anything about the cover up of the rape if there was one?" 

The smile faded. "My family has money, but nothing compared to the Manson money. Nineteen years ago Harold Manson owned the police department. My father finally managed to get the corruption looked into, but not in time to solve Olivia's murder." 

I wondered how Winnie and Jacob could know about their descendent. How in hell did any of this work? I looked around me, somehow expecting to see a horde of hungry ghosts following me, the ghosts of the men and women I had killed. 

Mulder gave me a funny look and I brought my mind back to the present. 

"Even if we find evidence at the site, we'll still have to tie the crime to Hal Manson," Mulder said. 

"That might be difficult," Natalie said. "Olivia didn't report the rape until she finally had to admit what had happened to her parents. They pressed charges, but there was no evidence, his word against hers." 

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Mulder said. 

OooOooO 

Murry, as Natalie called her, didn't like being left out of the action, but we couldn't leave a car on the side of the road. She let us out and drove to a nearby truck stop. Alex was on edge. I suspected it was the ghosts... 

My lover carries his guilt. When I fell in love with him, I knew what he had done. I had to accept it. His hands weren't clean, but mine weren't either. I think he wondered if all the ghosts of the people he had killed were going to show up some day, exacting vengeance. 

These ghosts helped Alex, yes? Why on earth is he suddenly afraid of them? I think I missed something... 

I hope not. I hope his pain and the good he had done afterwards would balance his sins. 

The situation reminded me of going under the wire in Tunguska. I hadn't expected him to follow me. Just for one moment, when he asked me what we were doing there, I saw him as the Alex who might have been, my partner. In that moment of weakness, I left it up to him to follow or not. I never understood why he went under that fence. He could have escaped. He might have spared himself what followed. 

Stumbling a little as he squeezed through the fence, Alex followed me again. I steadied him, smiled at him. He was mine now, all of him, heart and soul. 

We held the fence apart for Natalie. Her dog was off leash, but wore a halter, her working clothes. 

I'd only seen a cadaver dog in action a few times. There was something creepy about it. 

It was just something she did for her master as far as the dog, Rose, was concerned. Anything to please the center of her universe and she looked like she loved to work. 

Casting about, Rose showed no interest in anything until we hit a thick copse of bushes. She whined softly as she alerted to the perimeter. 

"Growth pattern is different towards the right side," Alex remarked. He squatted, playing his flashlight over the area. "The bush is less compact here, mmm... There. I see signs of broken boughs tangled into the roots." 

In that moment, Alex was completely a law enforcement officer, a well trained one. I loved the man he was, but I felt sad for this Alex, who was not given a chance to be real, the officer he had said he loved being. 

Just to be through, we searched the remaining area. Rose alerted to no other site. 

"Now what?" Natalie asked, rewarding the dog for her work with a play session with a knotted rope. 

"We get a court order to excavate." 

As we walked away, Rose suddenly turned, went stiff, her hair rising along her back. She uttered a low growl, getting between what bothered her and her owner. 

I looked back and saw her. She was a young black woman with a grieving expression. She let go of her dress, the torn flap hanging down to her waist. She pointed back to the copse as if to ask us why we were leaving her again. 

Natalie answered her cousin's plea. "Honey, just wait. We're coming back for you. We'll bring you home." 

Her voice breaking. Natalie spoke to us, "I was only nine when she disappeared, my pretty cousin who had babysat me. She was a wonderful person, fun and kind. It broke her parents' hearts." 

I knew all about broken hearts. I reached for Alex, reminded of what had healed mine at last. 

OooOooO 

It took several days to get a motion before the court. We found a lot out about Topeka during that time. 

On the plus side, Jacob became the spoiled darling of the Reynard clan, an amazingly large extended family whose individuals had cemented the family alliances by intermarriage in the past. That was how Natalie was related by genetics and adoption to her cousin, Olivia. 

We went to see the sights. You wouldn't think there would be much of interest to Mulder in Topeka, but he has the most incredible store of trivia and facts in his amazing head. Or maybe I am a little prejudiced about my husband. 

Anyway, we went to see Monroe Elementary, the school that was one of the schools involved in Brown versus the Board of Education, the law suit that brought an end to separate but equal accommodation in public schools. 

Talk about living ghosts... There were pictures of the classrooms before and after integration. The children probably had no idea that they were part of earth shaking change. I can't say I'd ever devoted a lot of thought to civil rights, but like I said, slavery I understood on a personal basis. 

The way I looked at it, rights were something you could lose easily. You think you are saving yourself by going along, but eventually you find you have bargained away everything that makes life worthwhile. That's what I had done. I could make excuses. I was taken young and the smoking man had done his best to fill my head with his insane ideas, but I could have made a stand long before I did. 

The project had taught me to be single minded in my quest to survive. It taught me that if I was hard enough I could make my life more pleasant. It never taught me how loving someone like I loved Jacob and Mulder could transform mere survival into truly living. 

I guess Mulder and Jacob were my raison d'etre. Equal rights...well, equal rights had allowed me to take Mulder as my husband, to acknowledge our partnership, and to allow both of us to adopt Jacob. That's pretty monumental stuff. 

Missy had gone sightseeing with us. She had developed a kind of crush on Mulder, or, more likely, she wanted him as a father figure. I wish I could tell her that she was more than the sum of her parents. Mulder and I knew about living down bad parentage. 

Missy said, "Let me carry, Jacob. I just love him." 

"Sure," I said. 

We walked toward the Volvo. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that alerted me to the car that emerged from the alley. 

"Mulder," I yelled, shoving Missy toward the Volvo. She screamed as we heard gunfire. 

Both of us moved to hunker over Missy and Jacob. We were both armed, of course, and I fired toward the car. Mulder popped around to get a better shot and I yelled, "Mulder, get back here." 

One of his shots must have hit the driver as the car veered crazily. I heard sirens in the distance. The car took off. 

Mulder returned to where I kept my body over Missy and my son. 

All I could hear was the sound of my son's cries, his terror. 

If they hurt him, I will kill them and I will make them pray for death before they die. 

Missy kept Jacob covered with her own body and she didn't try to get up. My baby was crying for me, "Da Da Da!" 

I wouldn't risk taking Jacob in my arms until I knew the shooters were gone. 

Finally, the police arrived, too late to catch the gun men. 

It hit me in my guts that this is how the family of my victims felt. I never tried to hurt a little kid like Jacob though. 

I felt weird as I rocked Jacob in my arms, checking him for injury. He didn't have a mark on him. 

Jacob finally stopped crying and said, "Bad!", rubbing his ears. 

Mulder hugged us both. 

I said, "Mulder, if you ever pull a dumb ass stunt like that again, I'll shoot you myself." 

He must have thought I was joking. 

I wasn't. I know how Scully felt now. 

The police took our statements, but I didn't trust them. This was personal. 

OooOooO 

OooOooO 

Our visit to Manson, after a side trip to the police station, was met by screaming ambulances. Manson was carried out on a stretcher. I recognized his beefy face from the pictures in the Reynards' files. 

Manson didn't look as if it was his heart. He was conscious and talking. 

I heard him say, "She's dead, but she was right there, pointing at me." 

I was pretty sure I knew who had visited him. Olivia didn't want to wait any longer for her revenge. 

There was nothing we could do there. Mulder and I headed back to our hotel room where two of the Reynard cousins, both ex-marines, were watching over Jacob and Missy. 

I wasn't going to leave it alone though. I had ways of finding out who Manson hired. 

I was going to put them out of business. 

OooOooO 

Was it right of me to seek out and use the apparatus that had made my life hell? 

I don't know. 

I can't pretend to be more than I am, a man who loves his son, loves his husband. I'm no saint. I'm a sinner if I understand the idea. 

My heaven was in Mulder's arm. My hope for salvation was my little son. 

I didn't find out right away who took the actual shot. Instead, I found out who brokered the deal. 

The skinny, wizened man who handled contracts in Topeka didn't look like much. He didn't run ads in Merc magazines. He wore a business suit and hid his money in a chain of cleaning businesses. Literally laundering his money. 

Right now, he was trembling behind his desk, wondering what had happened to his guards. 

I should have been reassured by his fear. I sometimes worried about getting fat and lazy, being married to Mulder and being a family man. 

Instead I was pissed off. How dare Manson make me back into this...this weapon! 

OooOooO 

I should have stopped him. I knew Alex wasn't going for a walk to cool off. He had been on his laptop and I could guess what he had been doing. I could have asked him not to go. He might even have listened. 

Only, I was furious at how close the shot had come to us, to Jacob. 

I wanted Alex to go after the shooter. 

I admitted it to myself. 

Missy didn't want to go home. She was strong-willed as her mother had been. I made her call her adoptive parents to let them know she was all right. 

I paced. Every instinct I had was telling me I should be with my husband. I fought it. I had to be there to protect my son and Missy. This wasn't the old days. I had learned a thing or two since William's birth. 

Had I stayed, Scully would never have made the drastic decision to place William up for adoption. You can call it luck that the consortium had gone after his adoptive family. Scully had chosen well. His adoptive parents died, trying to save him. 

Alex got him out, gave him to Jeff, Jeff got him back to Scully. I had come back and we stayed together until she sent me away, much to my chagrin and relief. Jeff kept his promise, not telling Alex's part in the rescue. Alex never told me either, even after we got together. Marita told me the truth when Alex and I got married. She wasn't big on keeping promises and I think it was a gift to us. 

Glumly, I sat down and reached for Jacob, whose forehead wore a Batman bandage across the graze where the sidewalk had scraped him when he fell. Alex's eyes and eyelashes softened his face. He already knew how to use them to good effect. 

"Da!" 

He called me Da and Alex Da Da. Only because Alex once caught me teaching Jacob to call him Ma Ma. It was just a joke, but Alex didn't think it was funny. 

"Is Alex going to be all right out there? What if they go after him?" Missy asked. "He seems so sweet, and uhm helpless." 

It took a lot to make me laugh under the circumstances, but the idea of Alex being helpless did the trick. 

"Don't let that pretty face fool you," I said, after I recovered. "Alex can take care of himself." 

Missy didn't like being laughed at. She said, "Well, I was just worried." 

"Don't be," I said. 

Yeah, worry about the men Alex was going after... 

If Scully knew about me staying behind like this, she would be proud of me and would say I had finally matured. 

Growing up sucks. 

I'd rather have been with Alex. 

OooOooO 

Bob Matzy was not as tough as he thought. It didn't take much to break him. Just a couple of fingers... 

The sound of bones snapping seemed worse than it had in the past. It made something creep along my spine. I did wish the man wouldn't whine so pathetically. I couldn't remember if they'd all made such wretched sounds. Maybe I'd simply learned to tune out such noise in the past. 

Whatever showed in my eyes must not have been what I was feeling. Matzy babbled out everything I needed to know. I held my gun to his head, smelling the sharp urine smell as he peed his pants. I meant to take him out, leave no one to tell tales. It was the way I was taught. 

I couldn't do it. I felt like Mulder was watching me. 

I am getting soft. 

I told him to get out of town and not to come back until Manson was in jail. I told him where his relatives lived, recited the number for his bank accounts, and then his computer codes. 

I think he got the point. I waited, listening to the bug I planted, just long enough to make sure he was arranging for his trip. He called for some fresh pants and underwear first. 

I'm not sure if it was the idea of me going over his finances, or threatening to go after his family that was so inspired him so, I only cared that he didn't call the hit man to warn him. 

OooOooO 

I caught the hit man in his basement apartment. He had a forehead more sloped than chimpanzees I have seen, and washed out blue eyes as empty as mine had been once upon a time. A time when Spender held my soul. He made the mistake of drawing on me. I surprised myself by choosing to fire a non-lethal shot. I even rendered first aid... applying pressure to his wound. Was it my fault that he took it the wrong way and begged me for the chance to confess? 

As it turned out, the creep was smarter than he looked. He'd kept records, recordings to be exact. I grinned. If we didn't get Manson for the original crime, we could get him for attempted murder. 

I washed my hands of his blood and of the feel of his dingy furnishings. 

Mulder looked at me solemnly as I entered the hotel room. 

"I didn't kill them," I said. "I left them both alive, but I got the information. Manson hired the hit man. I convinced him to talk." 

Mulder walked close and for one moment, I felt a sting of fear. This man who had so often hurt me with his fists could give me more pain now with just a look. I saw no rejection in his eyes, just warmth and love. 

He kissed my hands, my hands which had brought death so often. 

He answered my silent fears, telling me, "No matter what. I will never stop loving you." 

My Mulder... 

OooOooO 

The delay in our request turned out to be in our favor. One of the Reynards still owned a newspaper and ran an exclusive story on Olivia's disappearance. A witness came forward after all these years, admitting that she had seen Manson struggling with the girl near the site of her grave. 

The witness had worked for the Manson family and had kept her mouth shut out of fear of losing her job. The newspaper article had stirred her conscience, so she came forward. 

Mrs. Randle was the first witness at the motion. 

It was difficult to allow her testimony to imply that her information had sent us to check the site. 

I had to bite my tongue when I was questioned. I wanted to tell them about Olivia's ghost, but I had learned since my days in the basement. Telling them about her might satisfy me, but it wouldn't help our case. 

The judge was a stern African American woman. She was caustic when she lectured us about thinking we were above the law. It pissed me off and I might have shown some contempt of court except that Alex rested his hand on my arm, squeezing my flesh painfully when I started to get up. 

We were both able to be in court because Walter and Kim had flown into town to help take care of Jacob. I trusted Walter to keep our son safe and Jacob really loved Kim. 

Missy sat between her adoptive parents and her grandparents. I think that she was growing up quickly as she came to understand what had happened to her mother. Her adoptive parents were wonderful people, eager to have a daughter. They had tried hard to raise Missy to be proud of who she was and to be equally proud of what she could make of herself. 

The judge was so stern that I couldn't tell how she was going to rule until we heard it. 

Olivia Reynard was going to go home at last. 

The sobs of her father were the hardest to hear. They were the deep pain wracked weeping of a man who had been raised not to cry. His wife wept also, holding Missy between herself and her adoptive parents. 

Hal Manson looked as if he was living his worst nightmare. His team of attorneys could not protect him from what was to come. 

OooOooO 

The grave was shallow. It took only a few hours to excavate even with the care of the forensic team not to destroy evidence. 

It had taken some persuasion to keep the family from the scene. Natalie Reynard was their representative. She had been at murder sites before and she knew what to expect. 

There was not much left of Olivia, a few shreds of clothing, her shoes, nice dress shoes for the interview she'd never had. A strand of broken pearls mingled with her remains. She had borrowed them from her mother to dress up. Olivia had had beautiful hair, lush soft curls. It would have been up, but the poor girl must have fought and it had come loose. It formed a halo around her skull. 

The sight damn near broke my heart. 

I distanced myself from the man I had been, but I knew what I had been. I had been death. I'd prided myself on taking little pleasure from my work. After they'd sent me with Cardinal to kill Scully, I'd managed to avoid getting sent out on any other innocent targets. I preferred the ones that were dirty. 

Even so, I wondered. Who was I to judge? 

I accepted my lot. Eventually, I'd thought, I would look into the eyes of a killer like myself. Or not. I had made a fetish of personal, close up assassination. Marita had often said I was flirting with death. 

Maybe I had been. 

I'd held onto my life because I would not let THEM take it, the old men, Spender and the others. 

Until Mulder and Jacob changed everything, my life had been a burden I desperately wanted to lay down. 

Now all I could think of was how pathetic was death. Such a desecration of beauty and of the wonderful mystery of the flesh machine. 

And I think of those left behind. 

And I accept my sorrow. 

OooOooO 

I'd never before given it any thought. I'm not totally insensitive. It just seemed as if there were two Alexes. The one I had admired as one might admire a deadly snake, and the one I loved. 

I kept them in separate compartments of my mind, except when I was worried about Jacob. Then I remembered exactly how talented Alex had been at his deadly work, and I was happy. 

Watching Alex as we waited for them to dig Olivia's skeleton from the ground, I could see that he carried his ghosts on the inside. Unlike Manson, he needed no wraiths to torment him. His conscience was enough. I had been wrong about a lot of things, especially about his moral dipstick. 

There once was a time when I'd have judged him. No more, though. Dark and light, he belonged to me. I could no more reject him than I could deny my own soul. 

His pain was the measure of him. I couldn't take if from him, but I moved closer, touching his arm offering my support and acceptance. He flinched as he had when he came back to our hotel room. I stayed glued to his side, my hand claiming him. 

As they lay the pitiful remains on a stretcher, Alex grasped my hand. "I hope she will find peace." 

I didn't think so. Not yet. I think Olivia needed justice. 

OooOooO 

It didn't take long for the ID to be made. My impulse to call Scully in was quashed by common sense... not mine, of course, Walter's. 

The verdict for cause of death was homicidal violence. Her eye orbit on the left side had been broken. Her shoulder was also broken. There was enough left of her skeleton to show that the injuries had been incurred before death. Sadly, the crime scene had shown us something that we didn't want to tell Olivia's parents. The position of her limbs suggested that she had been buried alive. She'd struggled to get out, as evinced by the upward position of her hand and the contortion of her remains. 

No wonder Olivia could not rest... 

Sifting through the grave, the forensic team found a blackened handkerchief that would be tested for traces of blood. The DNA would be too degraded for ordinary methods, but might respond to PCR ... Polymerase chain reaction analysis. Hopefully the blood would prove to be that of Hal Manson. 

OooOooO 

Meanwhile, after the arraignment, Manson was out on bail. His lawyers had done some brilliant judge-shopping to come up with a judge who had no direct ties to the family, but came from similar roots in Topeka. 

Mulder came close to contempt of court when he heard that. 

I know what he needed to calm him down, the same thing I needed for different reasons. I'd never thought of Skinner as a romantic, but he suddenly announced that he and Kim were going to take Missy and Jacob out for a few hours. He said he was sure Mulder and I could figure out something to do in the mean time. 

How right he was! 

I thought we would rip at each other's clothing, but instead Mulder smiled that slow, utterly seductive smile I loved so. He unbuttoned my shirt, softly deflecting my hands when I tried to undress him. I could feel his hands move down my back as he slipped my shirt off. He sank to his knees... Mulder on his knees in front of me was nearly enough to make me come then and there. 

He opened my jeans, not all that way, just enough so I felt debauched. He kissed my belly button, his tongue flicking inside before trailing kisses downward. He tugged my jeans lower, teasing me with kisses. 

"Mulder...." I begged. "We don't have much time." 

"All the time in the world," he said. "Two hours." 

He relented, freeing me of my jeans. He shed his own clothing, a mini striptease just for me. He held out his hand and I took it. Pulling me close, his hands stroked down my back until they settled over my ass, kneading my cheeks as he kissed me senseless. 

All the time we had been sleeping in that bed, and we'd been celibate because Jacob was in the room. Other than a couple of furtive encounters in the bathroom, we had been starved for each other. We fell into that haven without separating. 

All the sex in my life...wanted, unwanted. Spender's occasional gift of beautiful and highly skilled professionals of either sex... 

Mulder made it all as if there had been nothing between my first love, Zhenya, when I still had my innocence, and now. 

I know he had the need to claim me, to come inside me. I needed him, too. 

His fingers explored inside me, his gaze stripping me even more naked. If I hadn't loved him so very much, I'd never have been able to stand the way he looked at me The way he looked inside of me. 

I yielded to him as I'd never been able to do for anyone else. He couldn't seem to stop kissing me. I'd never had anyone want me the way Mulder did. Even knowing what I am, what I've done, he loves me. 

The brief bursts of pain were intense, but so was the pleasure. He pushed inside of me and sighed, as I was all he'd ever need. He smiled at me, anointing me with his sweat, as he later will with his come. 

We moved together. Thrust after thrust. I cried out as I found that I simply could not hold back. His cries echoed mine as together we reached heaven. Sated, we fell to the bed, united into a tangle of us. 

OooOooO 

Alex woke at the first ring of the phone, but I grabbed the receiver first. It was Walter, sounding very worried. 

"Did Missy bring Jacob back there by any chance?" 

Alex is already dressing, not even bothering to wash. I said, "No, what happened?" 

"She went into the bathroom to change Jacob. Kim was trying on a dress, but I wasn't far from them when the smoke alarm went off. I tried to get to the door, but people were panicking. Someone pushed a lady with a stroller down and I stopped to help her. By the time I got back, Missy and Jacob were gone." 

"Alex and I are going to Hal Manson's," I said, pulling on my pants. "Call the police. Tell them to meet us there." 

I watched Alex arm himself as I did the same. All I could think of was that if Manson had harmed either of them, Alex would not be the only assassin to deal with him. 

OooOooO 

The house was dark. We ran a zigzag course toward the door. It was purely from training as no one shot at us. The door was unlocked when I tried it, and when Alex touched it, it swung open. It was like a freezer in there, so cold that gooseflesh rose the moment I stepped inside. I looked around as Alex followed me and saw police cars arriving. 

Before I could react, the door swung shut and would not open again. 

Alex had brought a flash light, because he thinks of things like that. 

The thin beam caught Missy and Jacob. Neither looked frightened. Blue light emerged from them forming into a girl. It was Olivia. She was lovely as she wistfully reached a spectral hand toward Missy, her daughter. Her full lips uttered silently, "I love you." 

As Olivia advanced upon the cowering figure of Manson, her visage changed. Blood dripped from her head wound. The flesh left her face, leaving nothing but a skull with burning eyes. She pointed a finger and two more ghosts came from the stream of eerie light. Jacob laughed as he reached toward the figures. 

One was a strongly built man, broken chains dangling from his terribly scarred arms, manacles clanking around his ankles. His chest was bare, showing ridges of scars that intersected with each other forming twisted ropes of scar tissue that snaked up over his torso. Despite it all, he bore himself like a king. 

The other was Winnie, her wild hair flew about her shoulders. She carried her child, the one that had had died with her, unborn. The two of them flanked their descendent and approached Manson. 

They didn't touch him, but he flew through the air, landing against the couch. He scrambled across the floor toward us, screaming for help. 

I couldn't feel pity. He had taken my son. He'd meant to harm my child. 

Olivia moved toward him, her hand reached out, bloody bones all that was left of it. Her fingers closed around his throat, squeezing away his screams. 

I knew I should stop her but I would not. 

Suddenly, there was a golden light. The man who emerged from it looked a lot like me, a me that had never let myself be scarred by the horrors and hatreds of my life. 

He was garbed in old fashioned clothing, a white shirt with full sleeves, suspenders, buttoned pants. A pen was tucked behind his ear. 

He held his hand out to Olivia who shook her gory head. He smiled at her again and slowly the specters of Jacob and Winnie moved toward him. I saw Jacob's scars disappear. Winnie's ragged clothing became a white dress of lace. Her wild hair smoothed into a neat coif. From behind the man - the man I was sure was James Reynard - came three adult figures that quickly morphed into children. They ran to Jacob and Winnie embracing them. James smiled again and Olivia took his hand, abandoning her revenge. 

I could see the sky through the suddenly transparent ceilings of the house. A chain of figures lead skyward, toward a lovely full moon. 

Generations of the Reynard family guided Olivia home, taking with them the long-lost spirits of Jacob and Winnie. 

Missy cried out, "Mama, Mama!" 

Olivia hesitated for a moment, but then Missy said, "No, Mama, go ahead and go home. I'm fine. I'm just fine." 

In the sky above, I looked for my sister, but I could not see her. 

There was a last burst of light, then the house became an ordinary house. Hal Manson rocked on the floor. On his fat throat were the marks of Olivia's hand. His mouth still opened in a scream, but no sound emerged. His lies had been silenced forever. 

Missy flew to my arms as Alex picked up our son. 

"Did I see her? Was that really my mama?" 

I nodded and opened my arms so Alex and Jacob could shelter there. 

"Is she okay now?" Missy asked. "Cause Manson's still alive." 

"She didn't kill him. She is as innocent in death as she was in life," Alex said wistfully. 

"All of them, all of my family and Mr. Reynard. Those children, they were the ones he adopted." 

"Winnie and Jacob's children," Alex said. "The ones they would have given their lives to protect. They needed to know that their children were all right, just as your mother needed to know you were okay." 

"I guess she did love me," Missy said, her pretty face grieving yet somehow satisfied now. "They didn't seem mad at Mister Reynard." 

"Why would they be?" I said. "They wanted their children to have a better life and that's what their adoptive father gave them." 

I wish my mother had done what Missy's had done. If she had given Sam and me to a loving family, I'd have been a different person. 

Then again, I would give all of my pain (None of Samantha's) to be with Alex. 

OooOooO 

The police came in to collect Manson, what was left of him. I doubted he'd ever be fit to stand trial. His mind had snapped. 

Walter apologized so many times, I worried about him. Alex was quiet, his arms around Jacob. I worried about him also. 

Jacob seemed to have no concerns at all. He wiggled in Alex's arms, trying to go to Uncle Walter. 

Finally, Alex gave in, although he followed our son helplessly. 

Walter reached out, touching Alex's shoulder, saying, "Forgive me." 

"It wasn't your fault," Alex said. 

Walter nodded. He said, "Jacob couldn't have a better family, Alex." 

My lover shook his head. "I just want him to be ordinary. Not like this. They did something to him. The experiments they do..." 

I had never seen Alex like this, not even after Spender had taken him and our son. 

I went to Alex and opened my arms to him again. "It doesn't matter, Alex. He's different. So am I. You know they experimented on me." 

Alex nodded. 

"The only good thing Spender ever did was to create our son. We won't worry about whatever makes him different. We'll protect him, love him, support him as he searches for what he wants to do with his life." 

I couldn't help it. I tilted my beautiful lover's tiny chin, gazed in his eyes, and kissed him until the worry line above his nose eased away. 

I stepped back, tapped his adorable nose and said, "Let's get out of here." 

The routine of strapping Jacob into his car seat calmed Alex down, but he sat in the back with our son. I sat up front with Walter, but leaned back to keep my eyes on the man I loved and my little son. 

OooOooO 

Olivia Reynard's funeral filled the Baptist church. Her mourners were every shade under the sun. 

Why do some families produce so much good and others so great an evil? 

I don't know. I just hope that William and Jacob are spared the dark cloud that hung over my family. My biological father had a legacy of evil. My legal father took an ordinary life and gave himself to the worst kind of corruption. My mother... she was weak, cold, and selfish. 

At least, Alex could claim one parent worth knowing. His mother is beautiful, kind, and as sweet as her son without that depth of sadness and guilt. 

Missy sat between her adoptive parents and her biological grandparents. She leaned on her adoptive mother's shoulder and her hand was in her grandfather's hand. She wept for Olivia, the mother she never knew, the mother who had given her life despite the way she was conceived. 

A picture of Olivia at her high school graduation stood in front of her coffin. She glowed from her portrait, all youth and beauty, filled with hope for the future. The acts of a man who'd thought he was above the law had taken her life. 

There was nothing we could do to make up to her family for her loss. However, we could celebrate her memory. Alex and I had talked long into the night. One grant would help the college with its physical repairs. Another would provide scholarships to African American women. Both would be in Olivia's name. 

Meanwhile, the studies at Buggs Island would continue, but not with Winnie and Jacob's bones. They would come here, to be buried near their children. They had already found peace, but it seemed appropriate to bring them north to freedom so many years later. 

OooOooO 

Alex and I returned home. Jacob squealed happily and it was hard to believe that this was the same child who seemed to attract ghosts the way Alex attracted eyes on his ass. 

We had agreed, all of us, not to discuss Jacob's role in Jacob, Winnie, and Olivia's tale. I didn't want Scully to be afraid of my son, to keep him from William. 

I could accept that Jacob was different. Maybe it was a good thing. From what Alex said, Winnie and her husband, the first Jacob, had helped them escape. 

As for Manson, he was held unfit for trial. The Reynards brought a law suit against his estate. He had no other children, so Missy would gain enough support to go to any college she chose. She was looking at Georgetown. Why I don't know. She wasn't Catholic. I think she just wanted to see if they would accept her. 

Alex sat on the couch and sighed. He looked nearly as happy as Jacob did to be home. I never thought of Alex needing a home, but the way he looked around him, made me sure he did enjoy living here. Kind of wished I had a better place for them. On the other hand, I'm sure that Alex was content as long as he had us. 

"You think Olivia's Dad is unhappy about what happened?" Alex asked. "He wanted justice for her." 

"I think he got it," I replied, thinking of Manson as I had last seen him, strapped in a bed, drooling, locked in a prison of his own body. 

"In a way," I said, "Manson is living what Olivia experienced in the last moments of her life. He's buried alive, unable to plead for help. He won't get out either." 

"Justice," Alex said. 

"Justice," I agreed. 

And there's justice too in our lives, in the love we have for each other. 

I may never find Samantha, but I know now that I can be happy. 

I know I am happy. 

With Alex. 

The end 

  
 

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Series Name:   **Father's Day**  
Title:   **Sweethearts**   
Author:  Ursula   [email/website]   
Details:   **Series**  |  **NC-17**  |  **114k**  |  **11/08/08**   
Pairings:  Mulder/Krycek  |  Skinner/Kim   
Category:  X-File or Casefile, Romance   
Summary:  Mulder and Krycek's idea of honeymoon is to investigate Bugg Island's ghosts.   
  
  
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